Newly Fallen (for Joe)
by Gloria Viglione

Cradle newly fallen leaves in your hands–
bits of crumpled sunlight–and say,

There is a poem here.

Cherish the just-raked leaves
drought-dried and
feather-weighted

seasoned on the branch
with earth musk
and nutmeg

caught in an updraft
and blustered high into orange, gray skies
to hover, swirl, and absorb
wild smoke and star specks.

Relish their descent
free of urgency,
ripe for repose.

Newly fallen leaves in my hands,
bits of you and me and everything.

There is a poem here.